


Every Inch

by pantykinksam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathtub, Body insecurity, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluffy Ending, Insecure Sam, M/M, Protective Dean, Shower Sex, post stanford Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantykinksam/pseuds/pantykinksam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam is really insecure and Dean's oblivious until he really has to pee.<br/>What better way to show Sam what to love than Dean, cause who knows how to love Sam better than Dean?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Inch

**Author's Note:**

> SAM IS VERY UPSET BECAUSE HE FEELS LIKE HE'S NOT AS FIT AS DEAN SO JUST BE CAREFUL BECAUSE IT COULD BE TRIGGERING  
> there's a mirror scene with Sam scratching himself in front of it so youve been warned ok

Sixteen was a rough age, Dean got that. So maybe he had a few extra years of hunting practice compared to Sam, but that was only thanks to John, who insisted that he was trained and ready for whatever might come Sam’s way. But still, he knew where Sam was coming from these past few months, with the new overwhelming pressure of hunting added to his shoulders. So maybe Sam had been a bit of a late bloomer in the hunting department, and maybe Dean liked him that way, the pure innocence of his little brother protected the best Dean could, but now, with Sam so quiet and reserved and sheltered, Dean wasn’t so sure that preserving Sam’s naiivity was such a good idea. Sure, Sam had known about the dark stuff since he was a curious little boy, but he’d only caught glimpses of the real crap a few times in the past year, and John insisted that at 16, Sam start now or never at all, and both Winchesters knew the latter was never an option. 

Dean considered talking to Sam around it, but there was always the loophole of letting Sam work things out for himself, which seemed like plan A, considering he spent a ridiculous amount of time sorting his life out alone as it was. Besides, Dean was an expert at skirting around issues anyway. He tried, though, when things got real bad after a case, and he was sure Sam was stunned to silence, frozen in his spot on the end of the bed, his eyes hidden under dark matted curls as he toed at the carpet. It never ended well, though. Even a simple, “So, some skinwalker back there, huh baby boy? You shooken up too bad?” earned him an eyeroll. 

He pretended it wasn’t even a big deal, fumbling blindly at his boot strings, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. His sight level with his knee, Dean had a better view, looking up at Sam through his curls.  
“Easy cowboy, just hear me out, ok? I know you can take care of yourself, hell, I know it better than you do sometimes. And I know you don’t want to hear any of this, ok? I do. But I also know that these cases get to you, and- Look, I’ve been there, and it sucks, but you move on, you know? Ten years from now, this case will be a piece of cake.” For a second, he figured he might be getting somewhere. 

Sam’s moody teenage look morphed into a grin, and his eyebrows vanished from above his wavy bangs, and he shook his head in disbelief, socking Dean in the arm.  
“Oh my god, Dean. You’re like, I don’t know, the biggest ass on the planet. Is this like, your pervy way of getting me to strip for you, or did you hit your head too hard back there, big boy?” Sam’s lips drew down in a sarcastic frown, patting Dean’s shoulder. “Dunno what you’re getting at, brother, but no. M’fine. It’s you I’m worried about. 

That’s usually around the time that Sam leaves a stunned Dean alone on the couch, wide-eyed, horrified, and a little humiliated, to keep it real, while Sam leaves to take a shower. But it was a normality by now, and after the eighth or ninth go at this, and with Dean getting nowhere, Dean was pretty sure it was something else altogether, especially towards the end of the day.  
Then, it got real bad.  
//”Not tonight, Dean.”//

Dean’s ears were ringing with those words, and he gritted his teeth and nodded, cheeks burning as rolled over onto his side, too embarrassed to face Sam on the small bed, his eyes burning behind his eyelids as he tossed those three words back and forth in his head. It was a Winchester ritual, really, sex after a hunt. Most nights, Dean just needed ultimate clarification that his baby boy was alright, was safe in his arms and back home with him, but now, Sam’s refusal was a regular thing. Dean left feeling numb, ears burning and throat on fire, and maybe if it weren’t for the utter shock that it’s been weeks without having Sam like that, he would’ve cried. Dean figured Sam was past that phase of his life. Probably too disgusted with what they had anymore. Wanted to cut the cord with Dean.

Four weeks, six days, 18 hours. Dean hadn’t so much as seen Sam naked since then. Dean was terrified to even kiss him anymore, fear of rejection fueling his every move, or lack of. Until today, 4 weeks, 6 days ahead, Dean had been losing hope that he’d ever get such an essential part of his life back. It was only 10 PM, and Dean was grateful they ended that son of a bitch early. It was gonna be nice to get into bed before the day was officially over, and the Lord knew Dean could use it. Sam had bolted to their room before Dean could even get the tab, and an exhausted Dean had to lug up the duffels from the trunk by himself, stumbling up the few flights of stairs. He should have known. 

It was quiet by the time he’d managed to stumble to C114, and he was bone tired as he burst through the door, rolling his eyes as he scanned the room. The living space was typical for a small town motel, with the classic twin bed stands next to their respected beds. A small teal blue recliner resided in the back right corner, aligned with the beds against the right wall. On the opposite side was a small two-seated table next to the bathroom. There was no visible light besides the escaping light trails shining through the cracks underneath the paint peeled door, and Dean groaned and set down his bags, turning on the small lamp next to the closet, conveniently placed beside the door. He heard no running water, meaning Sam was probably drying his mess of a head of hair, and Dean stripped right in front of the open window, yawning and shedding his muddy boxers for a mostly fresh pair and kicking the abandoned clothes under the bed, collapsing onto the closest mattress.

For a few minutes, it was something he could ignore. Sure, he had to pee, but it could wait a few seconds until Sam got his lazy ass out of the bathroom. Face down in the mattress, he nuzzled his nose into the thin pillows, dreaming it was the crook of Sam’s neck. He kicked his socks off. He didn’t need this right now. Groaning, he glanced at the digital alarm clock beside his bed, sitting up. It’d been ten minutes. He’d let Sam pamper himself for long enough. He really had to pee. Scrambling off the edge of the bed, he gripped the cold metal knob and pushed, eyes partially closed as he stroked his jaw lazily. “S’mmy, gotta pee.” He grunted, adjusting to the bright light as he forced them open.  
Sam stood naked in the mirror, tear-stained cheeks red and raw. Scrawny fingers pinched the pale skin of his thighs, poking and prodding at the soft flesh. Blotted red streaks painted Sam’s legs, like long claws scratched his lower body. The skin on his hips weren’t any better, if not worse, lined with pink scrapes and bruising spots where it was obvious he’d inched too. 

Astonished, Dean staggered backwards against the door frame, reaching for the doorknob, stumbling out into the hallway.  
“S-Sam, what-” 

When Sam saw him staring in the doorway, astounded, he shrieked, turning from the mirror and reaching out to slam the door shut.  
“No, wait, Sammy wait, baby, just wanna talk, open up, sweetheart, I’m not freakin’ out, I-”  
“Fuckin’ /asshole/!” Was the response, and with bruised ribs and a couple fractured bones, it was a lot harder than he imagined to keep the door open, and Dean winced, one leg jutting out to keep the door open, Sam’s words echoing through his ears as he tried to reason.  
“Lemme in, baby boy. S’okay, wasn’t snooping. Just had to pee. You know I wouldn’t do that.” 

It wasn’t much of a surprise that Sam eventually slammed the door on his leg, making him howl in pain and pull back, storming off with a “Whatever, Sammy.”  
He slunk against the hall wall, head in his hands. “Just wanna help. Whatever this is, it’s ok, Sam. But- But you gotta let me in. Else- Else I can’t do anything but sit here and watch. And watching you tear yourself apart isn’t an option. Ever.” Dean struggled to keep his voice steady, breathing fast and hard, trying to keep himself under control. 

Felt like hours later, but he heard the door unlatch and heard Sam slump against the wall closest to the door, back to his. Dean hoped he at least put pants on first. He reached for knob, door creaking open. Reached for Sam’s hands and tugged him to his feet, mumbling something about, “Just lemme look at you.”  
Dean almost wished he hadn’t asked. His baby was trashed, head to toe covered in bruises and nail trails. His eyes were wetter than he’d ever admit as he scanned Sam’s figure, shaking his head.  
“Sammy-”  
“Don’t, Dean. Don’t say anything.”  
“Just wanna know- what the fuck is this, baby?” 

Sam drew in a short puff of air and let Dean stroke his side, shivering at the goosebumps on his naked flesh.  
“Look at me, Dean! I’m so- I’m like a tenth of your weight, I can wrap two fingers around my waist, and…” He sighed, “There’s nothing here to look at, Dean. Don’t know why you’ve stuck around as long as you have.”  
Dean snorted. Actually snorted. 

“PLEASE tell me you’re kidding, kiddo.” And screw it, fuck whatever was going on with Sam. He kissed Sam like that first fucking night on the fourth, like they were sneaking frantic kisses behind Bobby’s shed, rain pouring in thick sheets on the tin roof behind them, barely any time at all, but they’d take what they could get. He let his hands do the talking, slipping down Sam’s hips and around his neck and through his hair, pulling him towards the bath and turning on the water with a blind hand. The water flowing in a messy spray of white sheets, he undressed quickly with one hand, biting hot and wet against Sam’s throat. Shit, he might seriously pee himself, but fuck, Sam was more important. Sam groaned, sliding delicately into the steaming water, tugging Dean down by his wrist.

Sam missed this more than he’d ever say out loud, and maybe he could let everything else go, even if for a little while, cause it didn’t look like Dean was giving up anytime soon. So yeah, he let Dean take control and settled into his lap in the warming water, steam all around him. He sucked in a breath as cold fingers wrapped around his waist, goosebumps raising from his hipbones to his collarbones, and he shuddered. 

“Fuckin’ perfect Sammy. I ever tell you that? You’re fuckin-” He blew a hot breath against Sam’s ear, smirking at his shiver. “Beautiful.”  
Sam blushed, trailing his fingers down Dean’s leg, his head low. Dean pulled him back for a kiss, stroking his stomach and his arms and everywhere he could reach, feather light kisses, butterflies against Sam’s soft ones. Sam’s eyes were closed tight, his brow furrowed and a set of tears streaming down the corner of his eye. Dean pulled away, stroking Sam’s cheek, whose neck was craned to watch Dean carefully, and Dean sighed, positioning Sam so they were sitting diagonally in the tub, kissing Sam’s forehead. 

“You won’t even look at yourself.” He murmured, lips on Sam’s nose. Sam shrugged and whimpered.  
“You really can’t see I love every inch, can you?” Dean sighed, his own eyes wet. Sam busied himself with running water threw his hair, another shiver rippling through from his back to his chest, and he squirmed.  
“Stop, Sammy. You’re gonna make it overflow.” It was only half a joke, because really he wanted Sam to stop fidgeting and fucking face him.  
“Know what I’m gonna do, Sammy baby?” Sam, wide-eyed, cocked his head, and Dean would’ve laughed at how much he resembled a pathetic labrador if he wasn’t so fuckin’ wrecked.  
“M’gonna take you to the bed after I get you washed up and I’m gonna take my time,” His words were hot and wet in Sam’s ear, biting his earlobe as his fingers trailed wet drawings on Sam’s thigh. “And I’m gonna kiss you nice and sweet and gentle all down this pretty body. And I’ll show you.” In between light kisses peppered across Sam’s face, 

“You gotta see. See you like I do. And then?” Sam choked back a sob, clutching Dean’s neck as if his life depended on it.  
“T-Then?” He knew what was coming. Wanted Dean to say it anyway.  
“Gonna make love to you. Gentle and slow until you get the message. Do it every night for as long as you need until you get it.” Sam whined, fingers scraping Dean’s shoulder blades, practically begging.  
“Gonna teach Sam how to love Sam.” Dean whispered.  
Who better to teach anyone to love Sam than Dean, anyway?


End file.
